It's time for another game of Good Idea/Bad Idea.

Let's play a game of good idea/bad idea.
 

For $200:  Cutting your own bangs in the midst of a self inflicted tizzy fit as an effort to feel better about ones self?

Alex, What is a BAD IDEA. 

ALWAYS.

Shit.

I'm almost 6 weeks post baby, unable to exercise worth a damn, due to my skin cancer scars (and yet another reason why you shouldn't get skin cancer) and with my doctor recommendation:

What he said: "Due to your excessive breast weight, exacerbated by the fact that you are breastfeeding, exercising during this delicate time such as running or walking that would encourage strain on this sensitive area could re-open your scars, cause further damage and extend your healing time, not to mention make any scarring worse, should this happen."

What I heard:  "Your boobs are are so enormously huge (embarrassingly so I don't even WANT to give you a size) and if you bounce them they will tear apart your scars and reopen a bloody mess on your chest, so you'll just have big tits on some big hips and look like you got attacked by a zombie/vampire and have to wait another 10 million years AGAIN before you can think about exercising to lose your fatness, fatty."



So I'm still (though no real effort such as trying to curb my excessive amounts of chocolate consumption -what?  are you CRAAZY?), "over my ideal weight range."

Translation:  I'm currently STILL (bloody hell) a fat, fat, fatty, McFat slobby fat arse.

Hence, the not feeling so good about myself and being trapped in a villa on nowhere island in the middle of a storm with the misdirected urgent need to boost my self esteem and thinking I can do this by either dying (Ahh Sarah, remember how many times I've tried to go from Brunette to Blonde with mere box dye and turning up Ginger Balls?  Those were the days...) or cutting my hair, and since there is no dye within reach, but there are scissors......  I am subsequently chopping my locks off in the blind ignorance that this time, this time in my thirties, not my teens, it will turn out better.  Yes my "I've lost count how many times I've convinced myself that doing this AGAIN it wil turn out right THIS time.. because I'm older and thus, much wiser", trick is going to work this time.

You'll notice that I said "this time it will turn out better"  and not "I know better this time".

Sadly, I do not. 

What's the definition of insantity again?  Oh yeah... thats right.

SHUT UP.

So, I grab the scissors, but this time it's different. This time it's not going to look crooked or look like a one eyed with glaucoma axe wielding homicidal maniac has not chopped my locks off with his axe, during a homicidal rage.  Not this time.  This time, I'm going to do it right.

I'm going to You Tube how to do it first.

Genius.

It's O.K., I know you're in awe, take a step back, catch your breath and sit back down, I've got more to tell you.

Of all the horrible things that I'm SURE have been you tubed in the safety of one's home that has at LEAST ended up in the emergency room, this is by far, the most benign.  I didn't you tube anything like "removing a large splinter and self stitching the wound."  Just how to cut my own bangs.   VERY BENIGN.

I you tubed the selection and I decide upon the most attractive looking fourteen year old (looking and sounding) white person with the least looking crooked bangs who has a self acclaimed aspiring career in hairdressing.

I pause, focus, rewind, pause and........ fatefully, attempt.

I cut off at least 2 inches and you know that feeling you got while walking halfway down the aisle and you start thinking differently, but you are wearing those killer gorgeous ivory pumps you bought on sale and you're pretty sure they make your calves look the sexiest they've ever looked it's a shame they're tucked under that spectacular dress, so I might as well get on with it/I've come too far now, feeling?

Yeah, that one.

I cut again.


I take in deep, sound advice, from my fourteen year old tutor.  "Never cut straight across, always cut at an angle."  My best Padawan self, complies.

Ok, Miley, I got this one in the bag.  Sexy drop dead diva making-me-feel-like-a-brand-new-woman-how-Stella-got-her-groove-back gorgeous bangs are almost ready to make their debut.

I've cut so much, that there's enough to make an afgan receiving blanket and looking into the depths of my destruction that is laying in tufts in the sink I can't help but think:

I've made a horrible mistake.


Again.


Shit. Fuck, shit, fuck, shit.

I wonder what I'm going to make up when I see my hairdresser in a panic next week:

"Oh yeah, me and some girlfriends got really drunk and decided it was a good idea to try to cut each others hair.. you think this is bad, you should see what I did to the other girl, she's your NEXT appointment."

or
"I accidentally left my scissors out and took a nap on the couch at which time my four year old decided to give us matching his and hers hair trims and I tried to make it look better before coming to see you, only to make it worse."
or
"Sorry"

I work on my best apologetic tone and take a cautious look in the mirror.

Well, lookey here, it isn't so bad afterall.

I mean, a little lopsided, but for a home job, in the midst of a self esteem emotional break down, it's not so bad either.  And when you put my haircut standards up to that kind of a shining pedestal, I don't think it's going to win me any hair style awards, but it did the job, I slightly feel better about myself.

At least, through way of distraction.

I show Mr. Price, sheepishly, as I KNOW he hates bangs.  And not just bangs, but bangs on my face.

Mr. Price: Shit Bec, what did you do?
I cut my bangs you asshat -can't you tell?
Mr. Price: Yeah I can tell, you hacked off half of what was on your head and now it's all over your face covering your eyes.  I mean, can you see me right now?  How many fingers am I holding up?
You're an asshole.
Mr. Price: No, I'm not.  You're the one that you tubed how to cut your own hair, you should know better, especially in the middle of a breakdown, which I KNEW you were having cuz your eyes were all red, but I ignored in the hopes that you would GROW UP, not go in and cut away at your hair.

Sniff, Sniff.  (Trying to evoke some sympathy from my heartless husband.)

Mr. Price: Well, it doesnt' look THAT bad, when we get back home will you ... call Jenny (hairdresser) and have her.. armm... touch it up a bit?  ...... I'll pay for it.

Now I know it's bad, Mr. Price is offering to pay for a service that doesn't directly end in a visit to Victoria's Secret and some very expensive lingere dressing up the bedroom floor.

But, aside from our continued "energetic discussion" that ends up with Mr. Price conceding that I have indeed done "not such a bad job and it looks kinda cute..", I decide that I did just a fine job on my newly renovated hairstyle and upgraded bangs.  I mean, it could have been worse, WAAAY worse, but it wasn't and when you hold my haircutting skills to that standard, I'd say this is a WIN. 

Let's be clear, it's NOT a GOOD IDEA, to you tube how to cut your own bangs at home and then do it, it's still a BAD IDEA, but I don't hate myself anymore, only slightly less so than before.

And that, my friends, is a win in my book.